


Tumbling Into Grey Eyes

by VictoriaCroft



Category: Star Wars director - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Moonlight, Writer, affair, black hair, grey eyes, star trek director, star wars director
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-13
Updated: 2017-02-13
Packaged: 2018-09-24 04:33:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9701918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VictoriaCroft/pseuds/VictoriaCroft
Summary: Eyes meet unexpectedly and a long-term affair of the heart begins.





	

I noticed his eyes at first, almost immediately. Even behind the shielding wall of those absurd Buddy Holly glasses, his eyes were large and grey, the grey of a good bespoke suit, with odd flecks of black that didn’t seem to stay in the same place. 

It was one of those perpetual industry dinners; you say hi, you shake hands, you promise to call or be called. You hardly know half the people you speak with but everyone’s your best friend. She wasn’t there but he was and we were sitting a table apart when we each turned heads to look around and caught eyes. He walked over, pretending he knew me from somewhere to throw off interested faces, smiling his slow, one-cornered smile. Somewhere between the appetizer and dessert, I disappeared into those eyes and lost track of the conversation. 

We left a while later through different doors and took a quiet, nervous limo ride back to my hotel and a long, gentle, loving night that I never could have predicted. At some point, I woke to find him in his shorts, staring out the window. 

“J?” I whispered.

He turned, his body silhouetted in a combination of moonlight and city light. We looked at each other for a moment in the dark room before he spoke. 

“Hey. Sorry, I was going to leave, I shouldn’t be here.” He sighed. “But I don’t want to go just yet.”

“Then come back to bed. Stay a little while longer.” He walked back to the bed, slipped the shorts off his slim hips and climbed back in. A while later we drifted back to sleep, comfortably tangled in each other’s arms. In the morning he dressed while I was in the shower, kissed me when I emerged and said “Later. I promise,” before walking out the door. We had tacitly understood the parameters of what we had begun but couldn’t stop. This would not be easy. 

Now it’s been several months since that first night. He has a drawer, a toothbrush, a razor and some clothes to remind me that he’s here sometimes. I don’t see him as often as I’d like but I look forward to those days when I can hold him, look into his beautiful eyes again and pretend he’s mine for a little while. We sit on the balcony and, in the sun, the grey is lighter and flushed with a wash of watercolor blue. Other days the grey turns darker and that’s when I’ve learned he’s gone far into his head, a new story swirling around in his mind that he needs to get down on paper in his quick, close longhand. We’ve developed something of a regular life and it’s oddly satisfying for both of us.

Sometimes he can stay for a few days and we talk, we make love and he writes while I go up to my studio and give him space and quiet. He comes back soon, buzzing with ideas and giddy as a boy who’s found a frog in the backyard. On most days, though, that beautiful even grey looks right into me, or watches me while I’m working from an old armchair that now smells faintly of him. Sometimes we just lie in bed, looking at each other and speaking without words until our eyes smile and we laugh, breaking into fits of giggles that mean too much. I can almost believe the rest of the world has gone away, quietly tiptoeing out of the house for the brief hours he and I are together.  
\------------  
We often hug like young lovers; quickly, in the kitchen, by the elevator, because that’s what we do, that’s how we talk when words take too long. His real, other life takes him away so much, but I’ve learned that he needs what we have as much as I do, as much as what he already has. I know my friends would criticize me for accepting a life that seems mostly on his terms, but it’s not really. It’s my choice as much as it’s his and I don’t expect him to give up any part of his life, just as I won’t give up any part of him.  
\------------  
I’ve lately noticed the odd grey strand in his tousled, tangled black hair. I like finding them and I never tell him when I do.  
\-------------  
I love him more than I can ever tell him, but what I do say always tells him what he needs to hear. He comes back to me whenever he isn’t hearing it somewhere else.  



End file.
